


Lysoria: Nation's Fate

by Clermont



Category: Original Work
Genre: Action/Adventure, F/M, Fantasy, Fiction, Gen, Magic, Original Character(s), Original Universe, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Vampires
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-02
Updated: 2016-05-01
Packaged: 2018-06-05 19:09:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6717700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clermont/pseuds/Clermont
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lysoria: an expanse of untouched forests, white capped mountains, and sprawling grasslands. A majestic land plagued by centuries of conquest, disease, and suffering. Two rival empires, incapable of coexisting, prepare for a final conflict that will decide total dominance over the other.</p>
<p>A mysterious yet powerful Vampire secretly hides under military guise in the Thandoran Empire. After a failed investigation, Sunsworn mercenary Stamathius flees to rival nation Tyr in search of aid. Yet all is not well. Tyr suffers from brigands, Goblins, the lich Xylem, and a divided nobility as oligarchs pursue chief election. Warrior by trade Stamathius finds himself forced into the role of diplomat on behalf of the Sunsworn, unknowingly walking a path that could shape the fate of an entire nation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lysoria: Nation's Fate

Celeste closed her eyes. Though she knew her body lay safe in her quarters, her mind fell through the silk sheets and into a black fog. Try as she may nothing could be felt. She went to huff in irritation but found she could not even do that. Paralysis mocked her. Now what was it that he told her again? Despite doing this before, it was odd that his advice eluded her. Perhaps if she focused hard enough she could… That was it! Focus! She would have snapped her fingers in triumph if they would but obey.

Intense focus on pushing through the fog seemed to work. She did not press forward so much as it swirled around her, taking on color and form, filling her vision with walls, a floor, and ghostly furniture that were reminiscent of the ones found in her room back when she was a young girl. Her hand ran across the credenza as she walked by. There it stopped when she caught sight of the looking glass. Had she really worn dresses like that? So bright and demure. No elegance at all. She could not even blame her parents, for it was her own mind that stemmed this travesty. Not if she could help it.

She squinted and the dress shimmered, at once becoming shorter, black, clinging close and dipping deep to accentuate her feminine form. She smiled in satisfaction. Much better!

After taking a moment to arrange her long, raven hair perfectly, she willed herself through the door. The other side contained a hallway of stone, the sort seen in prison dungeons, with torches mounted to the walls, stretching into eternity. She sighed. Sometimes he had no class. Typical man.

She walked for what felt like ages. The torches crawled past her at a pace that could cause snails to celebrate. When she looked behind to check her progress the door to her room lay not five feet away. She resisted the mounting urge to scream. Instead, she took a deep breath, and, as instructed, willed herself to her destination.

The hall rushed past her in a blur until she found herself at a double door. It was mahogany, with gold trim and handles, ornately carved with a mural of suns, stones, and dragons. Voices could be heard within. Both were of men. She leaned her ear close. Their discussion focused on Tyran politics. She instantly recognized the first man, he spoke softly, with a collected but firm mannerism of absolute control, it was clear he was educated. She imagined the face he wore: a handsome one with a charming yet smug smile above a sharp chin and locks of purest white down to his shoulders. The other one currently speaking sounded just as collected, but his voice was louder and carried the self-assured expectation that he would be heard. She had only met him in the waking world once and recalled the folly of appearances in this ever changing dream one, but knew he was from Tyr, so she figured it safe to picture a mustache clinging to the politician’s upper lip. After all, what man in Tyr did not have a mustache these days? Good fashion tended to elude even the best of nations.

Celeste decided it in her best interest to listen before entering. Unfortunately she had come in the middle of the conversation. The mustached man said, “The Rocklin’s should prove cooperative. However, more time must pass to sufficiently grow their fear and desperation. Only then will my men’s rescue of their kidnapped daughter be enough to gain their full support.” Rescue was emphasized mockingly. “Lord Bryen should fall into line with his sister afterwards, though, knowing him, he will likely require a touch more coaxing.”

“I am certain you will find the proper motivation,” said the white haired man.

“Undoubtedly. My concern, however, lies not with gathering support for myself. That can be accomplished easy enough. No, my main concern is Arlyn. She is proving far more formidable than anticipated. Already she has equaled my support with three other houses. And that is without her actively campaigning! The possibility of her sudden devotion towards the election keeps me awake at night. Present excluding, of course.”

There was a soft chuckle. “Worry not. I have arranged for her to be dealt with.”

“When? How?” Only through her vast courtly experience could Celeste detect his only slightly quicker than normal response that betrayed his eagerness, how he longed for the Lady General to suffer misfortune.

“The exact details I am not privy to. Suffice that I am assured it will prove sufficient to ruin her power.”

“How can that be?” The mustached man sounded thoughtful.

“I merely repeat the words promised me. Your rumination is as good as mine.”

“Indeed? Promised by whom?”

“I am unwilling to disclose my contact at this time.”

“So many secrets!” the mustached man laughed. “Fine! Go ahead and keep them. I worry not. You have yet to lead me astray, it would be wrong to doubt you now.”

“Your words are too kind. I merely strive my hardest to succeed in this world, as do we all. Yet I cannot deny my past successes. Maintain your unwavering loyalty and you will find your faith will not go unrewarded.”

“Of course, Master.”

They both fell quiet. Only the occasional sip and chink of fine dinnerware could be made out. Celeste waited to see if their discussion would continue. Some time passed before they spoke again.

“When is your associate arriving?”

“Soon. Admittedly, I had expected her by now. Perhaps she was hindered by something unforeseen,” a chill ran down Celeste’s spine as it felt like she were dunked suddenly into ice water, “or, perhaps, she is almost upon us as we speak.” She could perfectly imagine the childish grin dawning upon his face, down to the last tooth. He was so proud of his silly magic! Oh how it made her blood race! “My dearest lady!” he called louder than before. “Do join us!”

Her ruse foiled, Celeste saw no other recourse but to comply. She entered.

Beyond the ornate door lay a great study. A bookcase, stuffed and orderly, comprised the entire wall to her right, continuing to the ceiling twenty feet up, while the far wall appeared to be composed entirely of silver glass that showed naught but storming black fog beyond. In the near corner stood a desk of the finest grain stocked full of ink and parchment. A lone candle burned atop its surface beside a scroll rolled shut with haste. Celeste turned away from the scholar’s wet dream to instead focus on the occupants to her left. They sat in cushioned chairs on a carpet of garnet velvet near the fireplace which, while casting an amber flicker onto the room, danced silently and without heat.

She eyed the stranger first. The Tyran man appeared younger than she had anticipated. Middle aged and garbed in an admittedly stylish suit of emerald and gold complete with cravat, he was handsome in a gentlemanly sort of way, his black hair was slicked back and, sure enough, a finely groomed mustache twitched beneath a hooked nose. He held a saucer and teacup in either hand, sipping delicately. His dark eyes never wavered from her as he drank. An intelligence shone there, but beyond that, his expression gave nothing away. She resisted the urge to shiver under his gaze. This man was dangerous, a skilled, thoroughbred politician capable of death by speaking the right words.

Celeste gladly turned her attention to the other man. He sat upright with the perfect posture of a commanding emperor dressed finely in a silken robe of azure ingrained with numerous gemstones so extravagant that even the High-King of Thandor would be envious at the sight. Mantled to the shoulders was a scarlet cloak of satin and around his waist he bore a belt of banded gold which kept in place a surcoat of purest white inscribed with an eight pointed star that glittered like ruby. His face was nearly as she pictured, pale skin and hair the color of bone, crimson eyes, and gracefully handsome. At the sight of her a warm, genuine smile lit up his normally measured face. She felt herself return it. He was more dashing than she recalled.

“My dearest Lady!” he said as he rose, his arms outstretched. “I am delighted you decided to join us!” Amusement shone in his eyes. Celeste bristled. Did he know she was eavesdropping? She noticed that both men kept glancing at her attire. She looked down at herself. What she saw caused her eyes to roll. Instead of the black dress, she wore her suit of padded armor used for scouting. Blast this damned ever changing dream world of his!

Celeste changed her dress back and glared at the men. The mustached man returned a blank face, the other was smirking. She focused her smoldering fury onto him. He merely laughed in response. “It is good to see you!” he said. “Though in the future I might recommend dressing yourself before arriving.”

Instead of a verbal reply, she closed the distance and pulled his face down into a deep kiss. Muffled protests quickly died on his lips. He returned her affections passionately. His strong arms wrapped around her back and pulled her closer. Celeste let out sigh of contentment. He was a much better kisser than her mate Vallok.

They reluctantly broke apart, though remained in each other’s arms, both panting from a lack of breath. She twirled a strand of his hair while his fingertips lightly brushed the curvature of her cheek. Losing herself in the apparent love reflected in his crimson eyes would prove all too easy.

“I take it you are glad to see me?” he asked.

“Quite. It has been too long.”

“It has been all of two days.”

“That is too long.”

“Evidently,” he laughed. “Although proof of your zeal is diminished somewhat by your tardiness.”

“Cross, are you scolding me?”

“Cross again?” he sighed. “You know how I distaste that pet name.”

“I think it suits you. Always so stern and intensive! You would rather I use that silly other title you chose?”

“Much rather.”

“As you insist, Your Most Holiest Worship N’Vael.”

N’Vael growled. “Must you still mock–.” His protests were cut short as she smothered him with more kisses. He returned them with a fiery aggression. Oh how she delighted in provoking the man!

They kissed in bliss until the moment was shattered when the mustached man cleared his throat loudly. N’Vael hastily stepped back. Celeste sighed with regret at the loss of his touch. So much for pleasure before business.

“Ah, yes. Forgive me, Bastian. That was most improper.” He straightened the cloak around his collar. “As you may recall, this is Lady Celeste Laccar of Norwich in Thandor. Celeste, this is Regent Lord Bastian Fayne of Tyr.” Bastian rose and elegantly bestowed a kiss upon her hand.

“A pleasure, my Lady.”

“Likewise.”

“Shall we be seated?” N’Vael offered, gesturing to the three chairs, one of which materialized as he spoke. Bastian nodded and the men sat. Celeste remained standing, taking the opportunity to scrub the back of her hand when they were not looking. N’Vael raised an eyebrow when he saw her upright. “Dearest Celeste?” he inquired. He sounded vaguely irritated that his instruction was not obeyed.

“I will stand,” she said. “It is not as if I my mind will grow weary.”

N’Vael glanced at Bastian, who was sipping his tea nonchalantly. “If it pleasures you,” he said. He waved his hand and her chair vanished. “Now then,” he crossed his fingers and leaned back, “please give your report on the Sunsworn mercenary I instructed you to monitor.”

Celeste nodded, though briefly wished for the hundredth time that his instruction were to kill her son’s murderers, not monitor. There would be time for that later. She cleared her throat. “My spies inform me that his detour to Fairwood Forest is over. Stamathius and his company now travel east on the road to Tyr, they should pass through the town of Tallwick by midday tomorrow. In regards to his companions, the young Groviselv woman departed yesterday, though they are joined by a young female Witch, whose patron has yet to be determined.”

Bastian snorted. They both turned to him. “My spies are just as skilled,” he said. “I could have told you this.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Yes. But could your spies tell the cause of his delay? That the young Groviselv woman was Tanna Larendial?”

Bastian paused. His face scrunched as if he had tasted a bitter herb. “Who?” he asked reluctantly.

Celeste smirked triumphantly. “Exactly!” She turned back to her lover. “It seems that both Stamathius and Miss Tanna were cursed, he to transmute into a hideous feathered beast, her to rapidly regress in age until unbirth. Together they successfully broke their curses, though Miss Tanna is scarred by newfound youth. With her Channeling strength fully restored, she departed yesterday to confront her brother Galenthiel and his followers in Fallwynd, seeking revenge.”

“Fallwynd?” Bastian interjected. “By followers, you mean those mad Cultists of Talvir who claim to speak for the trees?”

“The very same.”

“I see. Is this Tanna Larendial very strong with her Channeling?”

“She approaches you in strength, though her technique focuses on environmental manipulation.”

“Will she supplant Galenthiel if successful?”

“No. She seeks revenge against them all, nothing more.”

“Intriguing.” He stroked his mustache while he pondered.

“How does this impact Tyr?” N’Vael inquired after a time.

Bastian frowned. “If she eliminates those marauders, land trade would need not detour around the woods and will again flourish,” he said. “Merchants and nobles will appreciate this and look to me favorably. However, Marinda’s wealth and power will increase as well.”

“Will this pose a problem?”

“She is no direct threat.” Bastian waved his hand dismissively. “A Groviselv will never be elected leader of Tyr.”

“But she is still one of the Five of the Syndicate,” N’Vael pressed.

Bastian closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Master, please beg my pardon for what I am about to utter, for I truly intend no offense. I have governed Tyr for over twelve years and been its Spymaster for double that. I understand the nation’s inner workings. I know how to make hindrances assets. Please believe me when I say that Marinda Quay is no direct threat.”

The tension in the room was palpable. Celeste looked to N’Vael. His expression was unreadable, even to her. “I will defer to your expertise,” he finally said. “Forgive me if I implied doubt.”

“Nonsense! Master, there is nothing to forgive. It is your duty as liege to utilize your servants as efficiently as possible. If anything, it is I who should thank you for the honor of your faith.” Bastian absentmindedly wiped the tiny beads of sweat that had gathered upon his brow. Celeste resisted the urge to pout. While she figured his complete annihilation too much to hope for, she had wished that N’Vael would at the very least punish Bastian in some fashion. Why must such a powerful man act so dull?

“Back to the more important matter. Dearest Celeste, when will Stamathius arrive in Tyr?”

She took a moment to consider. “Weather permitting, at his current pace a fortnight,” she replied. “Perhaps a few days longer. The rainy season fast approaches.”

“Outstanding. Pray to Azmund it holds so they can make it to the Winter Ball on time.”

Bastian stirred. “You wish for them to attend?”

“I do. Though their skills favor arms over diplomacy, they must have exposure to the nobility if they are to aid your election and the unification of Tyr.” Celeste could see the gears in his head turning as Bastian mused why N’Vael, who was secretly gaining support in Thandor, needed Thandor’s greatest rival unified and strong. She had often pondered this very same question to no avail.

“Master, I take it that you still wish for me to proceed as planned with the other Sunsworn?” Bastian asked instead. “Kalisa Devray will arrive in a few days’ time. There is still time to alter your strategy if you so desire it.”

“I know what you think, Bastian,” N’Vael scorned, “but no. There will come a time when my identity will reveal itself to all. However, now is not it. Until that day, the Sunsworn must be detoured yet also kept satisfied. Despite their narrow-minded ambitions, they are good people with capable skills. Your assurance of investigate aid will prove them invaluable allies in uniting Tyr.”

“Clearly you have devoted many thoughts on the matter,” Bastain said smoothly. “Very well. I will do as you command and instruct Parcivel to delay meetings with Kalisa until Stamathius and the others arrive. That should prove simple enough. He is kept particularly busy when the Tildens visit.” Suddenly he paused. He tilted his head and skewed his eyes to a corner as if listening intently.

“What ails you?” N’Vael asked.

“I am being summoned,” he cursed. “Blast it all! I told them not to rouse me unless it was imperative!”

“It is imperative,” N’Vael said earnestly. “You should retire.”

Bewilderment crossed Bastian’s face before he regained his composure. “Of course,” he nodded. “Very well, I take my leave. I will continue with the other plans as instructed. Fortune favor you until our next meeting. My Lady, Master.” He rested his teacup on the arm of the chair and bowed deeply, then faded from sight.

The moment he vanished Celeste strode over to Bastian’s chair and swatted his cup to the floor. Its contents spilled forth and stained deep into the carpet. She then daintily sat down, a contented smile upon her face.

“Was that necessary?” N’Vael asked, amused.

“Most assuredly,” she nodded gravely. “I did not wish for his tainted drink to go to waste. Speaking of, you may wish to acquire a new rug. This one is spoiled with mustache backwash.”

“I do not care much for the man either, but he is our ally. He deserves more respect than you show.”

“He is lucky with what little respect I do give,” Celeste spat. “That man is a devout politician! He will turn the moment the winds of fortune blow differently. You know this!”

“Indeed,” N’Vael granted. “Which is why I have you monitor him as well.”

She opened her mouth, but closed it without a word. She so badly wished to ask how all this scheming with world leaders played into the Final Requiem. Yet asking him that was like asking a stone why it lay where it did. Stubborn silence. Instead, she opted for a different route. “Do you know what it was that summoned him?” she asked coyly.

“I know it was important enough for his servants to rouse him despite fearing his wrath.”

“You dodged the question.” He merely smirked. Celeste gritted her teeth. His serene confidence could be so infuriating! Luckily there was a simple solution to her lover’s cheek.

She rose from her chair and slowly made her way over to him. A single mute, raised eyebrow was his only response. Perfect. She straddled his lap and leaned tantalizingly close, one arm entwining around his neck, toying with his hair, while the other busied itself by running her nails down his chest. She gazed deep into his eyes. “I see how it is,” she whispered in his ear. “You do not know.”

“I may or may not. Why does it matter?”

“Because underneath all that composure, all those titles and masks, all that magical power, you are still just a man.”

“I never implied I was anything more.”

She lightly bit his neck which drew forth a small intake a breath. “Liar.”

He closed his eyes and clenched his fists. When he opened them again his hands fell slack. “Come. As pleasant as this is, we are not finished from earlier. Did you learn more of Stamathius’ true identity?” Still he did not squirm or shuffle, of which she was both impressed and annoyed by.

“We can discuss that later.” She began loosening his cloak one handed while the other sensually caressed his toned abdomen.

“You recall that doing this here will not satisfy your urges. You will wake with a greater lust than before.”

“Perhaps that was my intent.”

“Are you that desperate to feel my touch again?”

“You tell me.” Her hand dipped lower and began rubbing between his legs.

He closed his eyes a second time. Now when he looked at her a scorching fire raged within.

“Very well. Later.”

N’Vael pulled her face into a kiss that in the waking world would have left her bruised. She returned it with delight, gasping when he tore the back of her dress in two. In return she ripped his cloak off, robe and all, leaving his chest naked to her admiring eyes. He growled, and suddenly she was falling backwards as he pinned her to the ground. Yet instead of colliding into the carpet of the study, she found herself land beneath him on a silken bed nearly identical to the one in her quarters. As his kisses traveled lower across her now bare skin, Celeste could not help but feel smug.

Pleasure before business triumphed again.

**Author's Note:**

> I am quite aware that Celeste seems to adhere to a certain over utilized trope. Following the suggestion of several editors, I want to reassure any concerned readers that she is not two dimensional. She has hopes, dreams, and goals, just like every other character. Please recall that this is only chapter 1. There will be time to explore these motivations as the story progresses. Until then, I hope you enjoyed my work and I look forward to sharing what is to come!


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